Wanker
by The Bella Beast
Summary: Drarry AU. Draco Malfoy is hired to live with and photograph the band "The Golden Trio". Warnings: Slash, hetero, eventual dom/sub relationships, a distinctly blasé attitude to wanking, eventual smut and shameless fantasising. You want to read this.
1. The Greatest Sacrifice Ever Made For Art

**Before anything else:**

**I have edited these first few chapters _after_ I uploaded chapter five. Forgive any discrepancies that I might miss, such as a Snape mentioned where a toad should rightfully be, but the aim is too fix these up!**

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><p>It wasn't the way Harry Potter posed that was annoying Draco Malfoy, photographer to the stars. No, it wasn't the way he smirked at the camera or the way he had more buttons open then were strictly necessary. What annoyed Draco Malfoy about Harry Potter was the way the conceited rock star was casually palming himself off in the middle of Draco's photo shoot.<p>

Harry freaking Potter had his hand in his pocket and was wanking as thoroughly as one can subtly wank through a pocket. No one else but Potter's precious band mates seemed to notice, and neither the redhead nor Granger seemed to care.

He didn't need to put up with the arseholes but Draco Malfoy had been photographing The Golden Trio since his father told him it was the one thing that could bring more shame to their family, and that was the only reason he stuck with this shit-hole gig. Sure, they were famous and the photos made him money – a fucking _lot_ of money – but Draco had _options_ now, and photographing his old high school rivals would never be high on his list of fun things to do.

"Potter!" he barked, "Get your slutty little hands behind your head where I put them! This is _not_ a Hogwarts dormitory!"

Potter smirked – he didn't even have the decency to blush – and Draco sighed, clicking the camera absently as he waited for the douche bag to get back into the position that would make money rather then supply a cheap pornographic website and provide fodder for dirty photo-shopped photos of himself and the Golden Boy. Draco could understand the delusion that the beautiful Harry Potter, boy of sunshine and rock and roll would fall for his unusual little Enemy Limpet Photographer and Ex Hogwarts Bad Boy Draco Malfoy, in fact he had even shared the dream a little in his final year of school. What he couldn't understand was why the public focussed on the photographer almost as much as they focussed on the rest of The Golden Trio. They shouldn't have even known who Draco Malfoy was, let alone be potentially editing his face next to Potter's hard on when these photos got released. Well, they should have known who he was but not because of Potter and his hard won reputation.

No, they should know the name Malfoy because his father worked for the biggest arsehole in the music industry. They shouldn't _like_ him.

"Mr. Malfoy!" The voice of his boss – Dolores Umbridge, a deluded and recently demoted toad – cut through his thoughts, "You should know by now that you are hired to take photographs. You would do well to remember that."

Potter laughed heartily and kept stroking his fucking cock.

It was something in the way his impassive face slipped away when he concentrated. His face didn't really looked constipated to Harry Potter like Ron had suggested. No, to Harry Potter the way Draco Malfoy brushed his eyes up and down Harry's body, worrying his tongue at the corner of his lip, was positively sinful.

"Harry, that's hardly subtle," commented Hermione Granger, drummer of The Golden Trio.

"Pardon?"

"Get your hand out of your pants mate," said Ron, "It's a wonder he hasn't noticed." The bassist sounded bored, as though he'd had to say that sentence to his friend more times then he'd care to remember.

Because he had.

"You know, Ron," smirked Harry, watching Draco's eyes burn with anger and irritation, "I think he already has."

"You are a twisted little kink you know that mate?"  
>"Yep, isn't it brilliant?"<p>

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><p>"Hermione. This is a stupid <em>stupid<em> idea!" Ron was pacing in the living room of the bands relatively large and relatively awesome London town-house, his cheeks growing redder and his arms flailing in erratic circles.

"No, it's perfect. Look, he's pretty much the only guy still willing to photograph us-"

"Only cause of that twisted wanky hate shit he's got going with Harry! If that doesn't say he's weird I don't know what fucking else is!"

"Actually _Ronald_, it's pretty much him saying fuck you to Malfoy senior. I'm pretty sure that 'twisted wanky hate shit' is Harry's one sided delusion, and you've lived with him pretty easily for... how long now?"

"Eight years," Ron muttered absently before returning to the topic at hand, "So, he's bitter and vindictive then! Not to mention conceited and irritating and vain as fucking shit!"

"What? And Harry's not? Come _on_ Ron, it's only a few months and we _need_ to do this or that Lavender witch will beat us in the polls again! Our hands are _tied_ Ron!"

"What do polls matter? Are we a band or are we sell out whores for the media? And what's wrong with Lavender anyway?"

"_What's wrong with Lavender_? You're asking me that? You know _what,_ Ron, why don't you go play guitar for her instead? I'm sure you'd make a beautiful couple but don't you dare come back to us "sell outs whores" if you leave again; I swear to God I will murder you if you do!"

"Ok, fine! Forget what I said about Lavender! We'll do majority! Harry?" Ron looked over at Harry pleadingly, begging him with his eyes to disagree with Hermione, to send the Ministry Record Company photographer bad boy packing before he even thought of arriving.

Harry barely looked up from his magazine and muttered between bites of his apple, "Malfoy's hot. We'll accept."

"Oh, _thank you_ Harry!" muttered Ron shuffling stacks of lyrics and music that didn't need shuffling and walking around the room shaking his arms at things and pointing at his band mates, "I am _so_ glad we're all taking this so seriously! I'm glad that we've all decided to act like adults for once! He's hot? He's _hot_? Fuck you Harry Potter! Fuck. You." Ron's mumbling followed him out the door and into his bedroom and was abruptly cut of by the sound of Metallica pumping through Ron's bedroom door.

"He'll come around," sighed Hermione as she peered up the stairwell after him.

Harry laughed his deep full laugh, "No he won't, Mione. Don't be such an optimist. He won't be happy unless we decide he was right and Malfoy will kill us in our sleep."

"Well, it's his own fault. _He_ chose to go by majority vote," Hermione bit her lip as Harry played with her hair, "Harry, he's not right, is he? I mean, this is the right way to go, isn't it?"

"You tell me Mione; you're the one who spent all this time thinking about it and if your reasons sound good to you then they're probably brilliant to the rest of us. Besides, it's just a temporary room mate. You need to stop making things seem more serious then they are or you'll go spare worrying about us all."

"But, you have to admit, it's going to be hard for you two to live together with histories like yours. Not to mention that you're all weird when you're around him."

"Mione, I'm like that around a lot of boys."

"No, you just think you are. It's different with him, I'm there whenever he is. I think-"

"I think you're being to serious again Mione. Rejoice as we are young and free!"

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Now shape up Mione. We have work to do on the house and _then_ the recordings on top of that and we won't get anything done if you're all bent out of shape over a photographer taking a few action shots. Come on!"

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><p>Draco Malfoy's taxi pulled up in front of Harry's town-house on Grimmauld Place and he stepped out, surveying the quiet, upper class neighbourhood that had striking similarities his childhood home – the ornate white buildings reeked of superiority complexes and limited intelligence. When he first found out Harry was living there (his mother kept up with the selling and buying of Legacy properties and this one had belonged the <em>Blacks<em>, so she had told him straight away under the impression that Draco might be interested) Draco was shocked he could afford the place – this was when Harry was swimming through bad reviews like they were the treacle in a treacle filled pool called Harry Potter Has A Shit Band – but on review it seemed fitting that Potter would live here. He probably fit in rather well despite his band shirts and obvious lack of decorum.

Draco sighed, once again weighing up the chances of Umbridge realising this was a bad idea and letting him drop the project against the chances of pigs flying as he walked up to number 12 and pressed the doorbell. He rolled his eyes when the doorbell didn't chime, but played Hells Bells by AC/DC. It figured that Potter was still as ostentatious and obsessed with classic rock as he was in high school; Lord knew he was still as immature as he was when he stuck a sign to Draco's back in their graduation photos. It was probably why Draco was taking the photos these days instead of being in them, well that and his Father's pressure to choose in Slytherin – Hogwart's law program – over "Gryffindor for the Musically and Theatrically Gifted"; there had been a fad of photography in the Slytherin house, during Draco's second year, inspired by one of the fifth years' Hufflepuff girlfriend and Draco had taken it to heart, much to his father's disappointment. The irony was that Draco probably would have continued to the desired barrister position in the family firm had he been in Ravenclaw like he wanted, but his father had put his foot down and insisted on Slytherin, unwittingly paving Draco's way into a career in photography.

"I'll get it! I'm on my way out anyway," came a shout from upstairs. Female, so either Granger or one of the boy's sluts. Probably Weasley's; rumour had it that Potter was more inclined towards house guests of the male variety. Which Draco did not care about, Harry Potter could (and probably would) fuck anyone as long as anyone was _not_ Draco Malfoy, which was not possible, let alone likely. They hated each other. But not because Potter was a slut. Yes, Potter was a whore but Draco could understand that and even sympathise. The reason really was that Potter was simply _crude_. He was classless and obvious and paid no attention to the rules of things and quite frankly that was unforgivable.

A flurry of giggling preceded a blonde opening the front door. He vaguely recognised her as a Gryffindor from his year – Lavender Brown, the most recent media darling – and wondered disinterestedly how Granger felt about that. Weasley was easier to read though; the boy probably brought home a girl they knew because he lost the argument over whether Draco would stay and do his "few months in the life of" photography collection. It was a brilliant idea, Draco's of course; he just wished he could have chosen who's life he would spend three months in. But, no matter how much he hated Harry and his 'biffles', he had to admit that following the Trio as per Toad Umbridge's orders would allow him both the time and finances to focus on serious photography instead of magazine covers that sold merely for the stars included in them rather then his own considerable merit. Draco wouldn't get that following Lavender Brown and her mediocre touring band. He also had to grudgingly admit that Lavender Brown and co. would not provide the opportunity for great work that following the Trio would.

He cocked his head and looked into the hallway, looking at surprisingly formal decorations and recognising the traditional formula's and layouts from his childhood home in the architecture as Harry wondered past, "Get in or shut the door Malfoy."

And so Malfoy stood for another moment, walked in and indicated for the men carrying his bags to follow.

"Blimey Malfoy," he heard Weasley practically yell, "Did you leave anything at your own fucking house?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Just show them where to put them Weasley," and pointed imperiously to the stairs.

Hermione smiled weakly at Ron, "At least he's making himself at home?"

"Hermione."

"Yes Ron?"

"Don't talk to me."

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><p><strong>The End. Read on dear readers, read on.<strong>


	2. In Which Harry Is Still Slutty

**Hey, thanks for reviewing and so many of you favouriting and subscribing! It feels rather brilliant seeing as how this is my first fic. Sorry about the length of this chapter but I'm very much for short chapters writing wise! I love writing Ron and Hermione interactions so if anyone wants to drop a few notes on peculiar arguments they may or may not have then let me know, just so I can have a few cheerful arguments amongst their love feud dance thing.**

**XO Bella.**

"Malfoy Dear, fetch me a coffee would you?"

"No." Draco turned away, rolled his eyes and continued looking for bread, trying his best to ignore Potter's low chuckle. Could the man not see how much Draco did _not _ want to talk to him? Was Potter stupid? Did someone drop Potter on the head when he was a baby? Probably his mother. God knew she was as far from a Legacy family as they came, poor breeding. And hanging out with Granger probably didn't help matters.

"If you won't give me a coffee would you give me a hand then?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, "With what Potter?"

"Oh, I'm sure we can think of something," and he winked.

Draco _didn't _ like it when Potter did whatever it was Potter was doing. And even if he did, which he didn't, he still thought it was disgusting and obvious to the nth degree. It was almost insulting to be hit on with such a lack of finesse and Draco found himself wondering how Potter could find it in himself to drag himself out of bed in the mornings – which would not only be brilliant but would smell much less like sex. He found himself fantasising about yesterday, when he had woken up in him fairly average apartment and gone into his fairly average kitchen with it's fairly average lack of The Boy Who Wanked Less Then A Minute Ago.

Well, whatever dickhead game Potter was playing wasn't going to work because Draco hadn't even thought of Harry since that last year and even if he had thought of Harry it was different ever since that fight. The fight had put Draco in the school's hospital wing for a month and he still had scars criss crossing his chest from when Potter had pushed him too hard into a shattered mirror. So no, Potter's tossing off and innuendo meant nothing to Draco Malfoy at all. He did, however, lift up his camera and grudgingly take a photograph. Grudgingly because in doing so he had to admit to himself that Potter's face was aesthetically perfect when he was being a massive prat; he couldn't not take the photo, and anyway, the light was perfect.

Malfoy was difficult to understand. Whenever Harry acted suggestively he glared at him and took a picture. It was like he was trying to document every one of his failed attempts. Maybe he kept the photos in an album and gloated over them in his spare time or maybe he wanked to them, because he _was_ twisted and Harry _was_ hot. Harry was going with the wanking option, which was pretty fitting to his pattern he supposed. Besides, he liked to think of Draco wanking. In his mind Draco would lay down and spread his legs like a whore and beg Harry while wanking himself off and in his mind Harry would just watch cause in his mind he actually had that kind of self control.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

"Stop touching yourself."

Malfoy stared at him with the aloof expression that people said felt like he looking into your soul – which Harry didn't believe because he just _knew _Malfoy was thinking about something girly like his emotions or his monthly cycle and just looking like that so everyone would think him manly and tough – until Harry got uncomfortable and looked away. His impassive mask, silently judging and calculating, made Harry's skin tingle; he wanted under it and under the girly emotions bit too; he wanted to break Malfoy into hysterics of want and lust and he wanted to know if, behind his low contempt filled drawl, he was a screamer or if he moaned and whimpered like a two dollar whore.

"Potter! Stop that. It's disgusting."

Draco didn't understand how Potter could sit there with his hand on his crotch rubbing his cock in front of people. For all Potter knew, Draco could be straight and this could be making him very uncomfortable – not that Draco was feeling anything but uncomfortable at the moment – hell, Draco could be a homophobic asshole who was here in a conspiracy to murder the out and proud little slut and Potter could be setting himself up for months of torture instead of the quick and easy death that his church group had planned. Draco found the bread and dropped two slices in the toaster.

"Disgusting?"

"Yes Potter. Disgusting. Crude and unimaginative."

There was a moment where Potter raised his eyebrows at Draco and licked his lips, "Effective though, I've found."

"Effective for what?"

Draco sighed inwardly realising what he'd just said; that he'd just made an opening for Potter to be more crude and disgusting then ever. Draco would have thought he'd be better at avoiding traps like this after working with Potter for the last year but all he'd achieved – aside from a certain understanding and mutual sympathising with Granger – was heighten his ability to walk into the situations blindly. Thankfully the toaster beeped and he rushed from the kitchen with his bread not even taking the time to butter it.

Harry wondered into the drawing room only to spot Malfoy hastily shoving something with pages behind the couch, pretending to be taking pictures of the wallpaper, and Harry spent several minutes trying to guess what exactly the item was. Harry was about to decide it was a porn magazine for the sake of his imagination but, knowing Malfoy, it was probably some posh magazine full of meaningful pictures taken at the birth of an ant on a half moon in July. Obviously Malfoy was planning on waiting till Harry left so he could retrieve his contraband and continue reading. Harry Potter, however, was more cunning then Malfoy would think to give him credit for; it was one of the side effects of taking on the most bastard cunt of all sneaky bossmen and his company Eater Records.

"Malfoy?"

"What Potter?"

"You're in my chair."

"And?"

"And the only time you should be in my chair is when you're in my lap," Harry winked.

And with that Draco Malfoy stormed off, once again snapping his camera at Harry for what he hoped was wank fodder – but then Harry hoped every picture of him was wank fodder. Harry smirked and fished around behind the couch for a good ten minutes before retrieving the magazine and being sent off into gales of laughter.

That afternoon Draco walked into the drawing room to find Harry sitting on a different couch to the one he'd claimed earlier with Draco's magazine in his hands. Everything about that irritated Draco, mainly because Potter was a lying thief, even if he didn't know it was Draco's magazine. Because Draco, unlike some idiots, actually knew how to be subtle.

Draco put down his coffee and sat on his chair.

"Hey Malfoy?"

"Yes, you should probably start calling me Harry."

"Oh," Draco's eyes were cold and his eyebrow a high immovable arrow because _no one _told a Malfoy what he should or should not do, "Should I Potter? Why would that be?"

Potter either didn't notice or completely ignored the danger and replied, "That would be because I'd hate for my last name to slip out at the wrong moment. While it is undeniably sexy, it reminds me of Hogwarts professors and I'd hate to feel like I was just finished fucking Snape instead of your fine ass."

Draco's jaw stiffened, not only at the being hit on but at the reference to his mentor Professor Snape, who had died the previous year from snake bite while looking for evidence to support Harry Potter's case against Tom Riddle for the murder of his parents, "_Severus _was a good man Potter."

"I know, forgive me for being insensitive but I was so caught up with the thought of fucking you."

Draco let out an angry huff, "I do _not_ get 'fucked' Potter!"

"Sorry, I meant shagged."

Draco's eyes flashed and he walked out of the room mumbling.

Potter called after him, "Pounded then?"

Harry heard Draco try desperately to stifle a scream from the kitchen and a curse that sounded like Draco came off second best after kicking the counter in anger. He laughed heartily and leapt for the coffee he'd been eyeing off since Draco had walked into the drawing room with it. He cradled it close and took a moment to enjoy the beautiful smell that was coffee. He leant down and took a sip and grimaced. It seemed like Draco drank his coffee with more sugar then water. He shrugged put it back where he found it and called into the kitchen, "You forgot your coffee Baby."

"Don't call me that Potter. It's annoying and disgusting."

"The only thing disgusting here is the way you put more slime in your hair then even Snape."

"You know what?" Draco suddenly exploded, "the way I do my hair is none of your concern and if you don't stop making fun of Snape, so help me God, I will rip your spine out and then slap you with a lawsuit for bloodying my nails! He was your spy Potter, don't you forget that!"

"He only did it for himself! He wanted justice for my Mother and I had nothing to do with his death! We just had the same goal Malfoy."

"You're a dick Potter. He _died_ for your fucking cause! Leave me alone and don't try to talk to me, I won't talk back."

Harry, for once, felt genuinely bad. He'd never take back what he said. Snape was a git and the man had hated him in life and wouldn't stop hating him in death. He'd not only treated him like an idiot but had sabotaged his every attempt to pass Applied Law, ruining Harry dream of joining the police force after he left school. Thankfully, Harry had discovered music, but it didn't make the fact that he could never officially arrest Tom Riddle hurt any less. It didn't make it easier to accept that he couldn't bring his parent's murderer to justice. He'd apologise to Malfoy for being rude and for bringing up the death of his favourite professor, maybe, but he'd never ever apologise for telling the truth about Snape. He regretted hurting Malfoy as he'd have to stop his little game that he was just beginning to play, no other reason, except that he'd have to be nice to Malfoy to ever get a chance at watching him lose himself over Harry and make himself into a little whore for him. That was all Harry felt bad about, because Harry didn't feel bad about anything but things that made his life difficult. He didn't really feel _anything _unless it was to do with himself, Mione or Ron. But he'd make it up to Malfoy, just so he wouldn't be dodging murder attempts and because he might even get some sex if he was just nice. That was all.

The next day when Draco came into the kitchen there were two jam drenched pieces of toast – just like what he used to eat in high school – on a tray in the middle of the table, next to a copy of that days Glamour Magazine and some overly sugared coffee. He eyed it suspiciously and sniffed at the coffee and took a small sip. Draco not only found the mysterious coffee palatable but pretty damn good. He looked around before picking up the gossip magazine and the toast and retreating back to his room.

Harry watched from the doorway with a small smile on his face. Because he was closer to having sex of course. Even though Draco didn't even know who made up the tray for him; a happy Draco was more likely to put out. Because Harry was selfish and in this for the sex and he kept muttering it too himself until Ron told him to shut up and to please pay attention to song writing.

Hermione was flipping through his lyric book and giving Harry a knowing smile. Harry was curious as to what Mione supposedly knew, because so far the soppy heartbroken lyrics he had been producing for the last hour had him confused and somewhat irritated.

"Don't worry Harry, I like your lyrics."

"What's that supposed to mean Mione?" interjected Ron.

"Nothing Ron. Why would it mean anything?"

"Well, I _know_ that you're jealous of Lavender-" Harry winced, knowing that Ron had just put his foot in it. He looked over at Mione who was gripping her drum sticks hard enough to turn her knuckles white.

"Ron."

"Yes?"

"Don't talk to me."

Ron pouted at the way she threw his words back at him and the way she smirked rather meanly.

"Harry, lets go over 'Fuck You and Your Slut'. I think Ron may have missed some of the finer points in the chorus."

And Harry, after one glance at Mione's face put his head down and started playing.


	3. My Best Friend Once Told Me It Was So

**BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE: **

**Big thanks to my favourite cheerleader and friend The Fragile Night Rain for being just generally brilliant with ideas and helping me so much.**

**And thanks to my reviewers :) **

**Sorry for the waiting but I'm a busy girl, honest. If I tried to rush this is would be worse then it is and we would all suffer for it :P Uni's keeping me stressed and stretched at the moment, but bear with me. **

**BEHOLD: A chapter! New characters! Tea and hot chocolate! Music session! Sirius Draco and Angry Harry!**

"Forgive me if I'm wrong Draco, but aren't you supposed to be working on being artistic and creative right now?"

"What? I am!"

Pansy Parkinson looked at him over her glasses, "Every picture I've seen is a smirking Harry Potter. It's hardly artistic or creative."

"It's not like Potter does anything other then smirk."

"And I suppose Weasley and Granger don't do anything at all then?"

"What?"

"Well, why isn't there any pictures of them in here?"

"There's at least one of Granger," he muttered absently, "and they're hardly _interesting_ anyway."

"So you admit Potter's interesting then?"

"Pans, stop lawyering me," snapped Draco, "and take of those _stupid_ glasses."

"Don't try to change the subject. You think Potter's interesting, don't you? "

"Admit it Pansy, you don't even need them."

"You admit that you're overly focussed on Potter and then maybe I'll listen to your inane babbling."

"I mean, everyone knows you only wear them to make you look smarter."

Pansy's eyes narrowed, which was a danger sign as clear as the sky was blue, "Draco Malfoy, you listen to me!"

"I will not be intimidated by you Pansy," he hissed, "You'll do well to remember that I _am_ legacy and I _am _Slytherin and as such I know all the formulas. Any way your accusations are unfounded."

"I'd say I have fair foundation in the form of roughly twenty photographs of Potter looking like he want to eat you, but fine. Ignore me. You're the one missing out."

"Missing out on what, may I ask?"

"You're a smart boy, you'll work it out."

Draco glared at Pansy; if there was anything he hated more then being patronised then it was not knowing something. Not knowing things got him in all kinds of trouble; not knowing why legacy isn't always best, not knowing that Umbridge would ask politely but forcefully that he live with Harry Potter when he confided his photography master concept and, most recently, not knowing why he had only taken photos of his most hated enemy of all time.

"Tea, Draco?"

"Of course, Pansy."

"And, just quietly, I think you should start taking this job a little more seriously Draco."

And Pansy was right, of course, like always.

Fuck Pansy.

"Fuck You and Your Slut? That's an actual song?"

Harry laughed and broke his cookie into smaller bits before dunking it into his hot chocolate, "Hermione's title. It actually makes complete sense once you hear the song."

"Was it possibly written after Lavender's little visit to Grimmauld Place?"

"How do you know she was there?"

"I'm a music journalistic. It's my job to know these things about you. Also, I heard mum yelling at Ron when he and Lav visitted the burrow yesterday."

"Points for deduction, Ginny," Harry teased, "but actually she wrote it back in fourth or fifth year. You know, when 'Won Won' and 'Lavi-Love' started dating that first time."

"Oh, God it's sickening."

"It's almost gruesome."

"Speaking of sickening, what on Earth is happening with _your_ lyrics?"

"I have no fucking idea, it's just _happening_ that way! No matter what I do it's all, 'I'm invisible' and 'he'll never notice me'. Too be honest I feel like a teenage Hufflepuff in heat."

"What? Vague, horny and misunderstood?"

"Pretty much."

"Oddly enough it coincides perfectly with Draco Malfoy's arrival in your house."

"Whatever. How's Neville doing?"

"He's been playing with plants all year long. How do you _think_ he's doing? But back to Malfoy arriving on your doorstop and inspiring you to write like a weeping willow."

"You are so full of shit."

"Fine, but I've planted the seeds and now all I have to do is sit back and watch them take root."

"Seriously?"

"As serious as ring bark."

"You can fuck off right now. I've changed my mind, maybe marrying a botanist is not a good plan for you. I'm calling Neville and breaking the engagement before you go barking mad."

Ginny laughed, "Trees have bark."

"Don't think I won't call him, 'cause I will!"

"Don't think I'll ignore how much you love Draco Malfoy, 'cause I won't!"

"This is not a conversation about Malfoy, this is a conversation about your incessant plant references," Harry hissed, "_and_ futhermore I do not love Draco Malfoy. I don't even like the git."

"Even so, you have to somehow fix your writing."

And Ginny was right again. She was always fucking right.

Fuck her and fuck her tacky tree metaphors.

After spending another hour with Ginny eating biscuits, laughing and occasionally dodging the odd sentence or two about his obvious love for Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter walked in to his front room watching Draco taking photos of absolutely nothing.

He raised his eyebrow and stood there until Malfoy noticed him.

"What on earth are you doing Malfoy?"

"My job."

"Which is apparently taking photographs of my empty front hall."

"If you must know, I was photographing the Black legacy seal which is jumbled with all this junk. It's the contrast of both social and aesthetic-"

"That junk," Harry interrupted, "if you must know, is my soccer gear, my music stand and my guitar. Which I need at the moment."

"What could you need soccer gear, a music stand and a guitar for?"

"Just the guitar you git, unless you want to see me in my soccer uniform? Have I discovered the Malfoy Legacy kink?"

Draco blushed and rolled his eyes, "Don't disrespect my family."

Harry laughed but Draco failed to see what was so funny. With a smile on his face that irritated Draco to the core, "I need the guitar for the writing session, which you might want to photograph. You know, that being the reason you're infecting my house with your manners and your Legacy-ness."

"Somehow, Potter, I fail to see how you have a reputation as a word-smith. Legacy-ness? I can see why you failed English."

"You fail to see a lot of things Darling."

"_Don't call me that!_" The words ground out from between Draco's teeth. Potter was unbearable, Potter was rude and _Potter was taking a liberty he was not in a entitled to take_! What was wrong with Potter? Did he not know _anything_ about the way things were? Did he not understand anything about society? Even Potter's father, a man who married _outside_ Legacy bounds, would turn in his grave to hear his son violate almost every rule of speech in the book, and almost daily too.

Harry laughed his low chuckle and picked up his guitar from the pile of 'junk' and ruining the accidentally brilliant arrangement Draco had been so carefully photographing. Draco huffed and stomped up the stairs after him, "Oi! You ruined my carefully arranged shot. Fucking wanker! Listen to me!"

Harry only chuckled and kept walking into the small room which used too be the bedroom Weasley's twin brothers slept in when they stayed at Grimmauld Place with the team from Phoenix Records. Harry loved the scorch marks and odd explosions of paint and other coloured liquids that covered the walls. He often wondered what they actually did up here to make such a mess; too this day no one knew anything more then the end product as they swaggered out with a brightly coloured this or that for their joke show. Harry laughed again as he thought about what Draco would make of the room, the twitch in his eyebrow when he looked at the stained walls that should be pure white, and the thin line his mouth would become when he saw the mess of notebooks on the music stands and stacks of papers lying on top of books and tables and floors. Let him try to clean the place; Harry couldn't wait for Ron's explosion when he tried to move on of the piles of paper and sheet music that were gathering around his bass and keyboard.

He laughed as Draco walked in, but his laugh died on his lips as Malfoy's eyes widened in excitement and he began taking photographs of the messy stacks and the books and the marks on the wall. He took photos of Mione sitting with a cocked eyebrow in Harry's direction but otherwise stoic and patient. He took photos of Ron with his bass in his lap, idly strumming away, waiting for Harry to suggest a point for the session; would they write today? Would they rehearse? Or would they just play? He didn't however, take many photos of Harry at all.

Draco zoomed in on Harry's notebook and once again marvelled at the photogenic gift this scorched up old room was. The colours and the vibrancy and the dirt and the grunge of this band all captured in this one room. He wondered if there was a magic behind it or if it's wall were the spark of inspiration that made this band brilliant, as he grudgingly had to admit it was. Even Harry's notebook was a brilliant picture in this room; the light made the yellowed pages pop and the black spidery scrawls look more like art then letters. He sat back and took pictures of the band working in this vibrant room, listening to them first play a song that was apparently from yesterdays session. It was a song about being unnoticed and struck a chord inside him that he didn't even know existed. Hermione Granger was taking it upon herself to educate Draco about the songs in a low whisper in the moment where Harry stood staring at the paper before making frantic changes and almost shouting directives. He was shocked to learn that Potter wrote the song almost by himself; Draco had not believed Harry Potter capable of feeling unnoticed.

They then moved on too writing what, Granger informed him, was completely new material. The new material were punchy energetic songs about irritation and stupidity that Potter sung with a pointed look in Draco's direction. Potter's face was so passionate that it was hard not to take his picture, but Draco remembered Pansy's words and held his ground as Potter got more and more angry and connected with the music more and more, until the end of the days music session and Harry stood there huffing and glaring so intensely that Draco couldn't resist.

The flash popped in Harry's direction for the first time that day and he found himself inexplicably relaxed as he finally felt Draco's gaze fixed on him through the camera lens. Harry Potter was _not_ a man to be ignored.

Not even by Draco fucking Malfoy.

**Please be a kind soul and review and subscribe. **


	4. A Surprise Occurs Much Too Early

**BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE: **

**I am procrastinating on editing The Fragile Midnight Rain's beautiful SasuNaru which I shouldn't do because it's brilliant and she's brilliant and if you love SasuNaru then Love From Anonymous (the aforementioned SasuNaru) is for you ;D SO GO READ HER STUFF AS SHE IS LOVELY AND HER STORY'S LOVELY AND IT'S ALL LOVELY.**

**Sorry for the wait and sorry for the short chapter. It just seemed like a natural place to break and it's three am so I don't want to write anymore and I thought I should get something up after the wait.**

**A wild angst appears. Writer uses apologise.**

It was on the fourth day of the Live In Project that Umbridge called Draco at God knows when in the morning and asked in an annoyingly pitched voice if he was aware that The Golden Trio was too leave for a tour on Monday, it was on the fourth day of the Live In Project that Draco told her to go suck a cock and it was on the fourth day that she threatened his job and waved her pitiful influence around until Draco snarled and agreed.

He stared up the roof with his phone in his hand and counted too ten.

Then twenty – or at least he tried to count to twenty. At around twelve the numbers devolved into an odd sound somewhere between a growl and a scream as he threw his phone at the wall.

"Fucking bitch ass slut face whore _toad_! I will fucking mount her head on my wall with father's hunting souvenirs! I will rip out her heart and feed it too the dogs at the manor! I will use her fucking spleen too-"

But what use Draco could possibly have for Dolores Umbridge's spleen would never be known as he was interrupted by a sleeping looking Harry Potter in his doorway looking both half naked and livid.

"For fuck's sake Malfoy. Will you shut the fucking fuck up?"

Draco rolled over in bed to stare dangerously at Potter, "You! _You! _Did you want to maybe mention the part of this arrangement where I had to _travel across fucking Europe_, Potter? Did it slip your mind to tell me or did you just decide that I was too insignificant to be informed?"

"Oh, do you want to talk about insignificance Draco?" Harry said, his jaw clenching, "How about we talk about how much work you actually did yesterday before we start discussing your worth here?"

"How much work _I_ did? _Me_? _I'm_ the one doing no work?" Draco's eyes narrowed, "What about you Potter? Sitting there crying over some fuck who didn't call you back instead of actually writing something usable?"

Draco could almost _feel _Harry's sharp intake of breath and almost looked away from the angry musician.

"You are _not _a music critic, so I don't have to answer to you and your prissy little bitching!"

"Oh, and you've the right to talk about _my_ work?" Draco got out of bed and stepped towards Harry with his fists clenched, "You have the right to tell me I'm doing nothing when I've actually been doing my job properly for the first time in my life? Do you think I care so little about my only passion in life that I'm living with _you_ just so I can sit around and do _fuck all_?"

Harry almost punched the door, "Do you think _I_ don't care about my music? This band is the only thing I fucking care about, Draco Malfoy, and the only thing I ever will! You don't-" Harry broke off and looked at the ceiling, wondering why he was getting so angry and why he was even getting into this with Draco Malfoy of all people, "You know what, my song writing isn't the issue here. The issue is _what the fuck you are doing waking me up at 7am in my own fucking house_!"

"No, the issue is why I am expected to leave my entire life behind to follow you around the arse end of nowhere while you play sex god to twelve year olds!"

Harry breathed in deep and plastered his cocky smirk on his face, "I don't _play_ sex god, Draco dear, I _am_ sex god."

It was at this moment a sleepy Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder and asked him quietly what was happening.

"What's happening is that our resident photographer doesn't give a flying fuck about anyone but his own lazy fucking self!" then he turned back to Draco, "If you hate it here so much why don't you just fuck off back to Daddy, you fucking prude little bitch! Bet he can lend you a whole tonne of Legacy shit to waste your film on! Bet that would make Daddy proud, huh? You could send the pictures too him to brighten up his cell walls! I bet he'd fucking love that, wouldn't he Draco? Draco Malfoy, Slytherin legacy prince and photographer. Oh, wait. That's right. Didn't Daddy disown little Draco?"

"Harry!" hissed Hermione, "Stop it!"  
>"Whatever," and, on that profound note, Harry turned and stomped off.<p>

Hermione walked into the room and tentatively touched Draco on the arm, "He doesn't mean it, really."

"Doesn't mean what? That my father disowned me? That my father's in prison and is a disgusting excuse for a person? He is, isn't he?"

Hermione frowned, "He doesn't mean too lash out like this. He- He thought you'd like touring. It was going to be a surprise, a treat, though he'd never admit too it, nor too wanting to give you a treat. He's supposed to hate you, remember? And he's pretty hell bent on not caring. I'll talk to him about it, don't worry."

"I don't need you too fight my battles." Said Draco in his strongest voice, but he still let Hermione pull him into an awkward hug.

It had been so long since he'd been hugged.

"Also, I have entirely no idea what you meant by any of that."

Hermione smiled, "It's early Draco. I'm allowed to not make sense. Do you- Do you want to talk?"

"We are talking."

"Well, yes. These are words. We're saying them. But I really meant the Gryffindor way, with the emotions and discussions and things."

Draco looked at her dubiously.

"And a bit of Slytherin way as well."

"You'll let me bitch about Saint Potter?"

Hermione smiled gently and gave him a one armed squeeze, "I'll even join in."

"I'm not happy about this."

"I know," she smirked.

"And if anyone asks, this never happened."

Hermione laughed and followed Draco out the door. Draco wasn't happy that all he had to talk to was Hermione Granger, complete Mudblood and Gryffindor that she was, but he had to live with her and if she and her Externality wanted to talk he wanted it over and done with.

Or at least that's what he told himself as he marched imperiously to the kitchen.

That and Pansy never hugged him, ever.

**Love me tender and leave me some sugar babes.**


	5. Where No One Believes Ron's An Earlybird

**Before anything else:**

**I love this chapter a bit, treat it kindly my loves.**

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><p>Ron stared at Harry in bemusement. Bemusement was a word he learned from Hermione – apparently it described the way in which he did everything.<p>

He had looked at her in a bemused state until she made him look it up.

What was making Ron bemused this time was Draco storming into the kitchen, Draco Malfoy apparently experiencing the fright of his life when he realised Ron was already in there, Hermione wondering sleepily after the enraged Slytherin, Hermione cocking her head to the side when she saw Ron nursing a cup of coffee, Hermione pushing Draco towards the front door, Draco letting Hermione push him to the front door, Harry storming into the kitchen ten minutes later, Harry also being shocked that Ron was in awake and Harry ranting about early risers.

Honestly, Ron didn't know why people didn't believe that he was, in fact, an early riser. Everyone except Lav, that is, and she whined about it like an out of water mermaid.

He was a bit sick of it to be honest because, really, he fucking _lived_ with these people.

"Right," Ron got up and crossed his arms in a manly manner, "You will bloody well shut up and tell me what the fucking _fuck_ you're yelling at me for before I belt you one."

"Draco fucking Malfoy."

"Oh, he's just a pillock innit. Coffee?"

"Ron."

Oh. Harry had his dangerous face on. Ron took a calming breath and tried to look concerned, "yes, I know Harry. He's a git. A great big huge git who you and Hermione invited into our house even though I said it was a bad idea," Ron looked at him consolingly knowing Harry really wasn't listening to him at this point, "To be honest you brought this on yourself mate."

"What?"

"This is all Hermione's fault."

"Oh. Yeh. Not her fault Malfoy is such a fucking cock though is it?"

"No mate. Here's your coffee."

"Fuck your coffee!"

"Alright mate," said Ron passing Harry the cup. He winced, "Be a bit hot, but."

As he watched him sip tentatively at the double shot brew Ron thanked the lord that he knew how to handle Harry better then he did at school.

God, he was glad the legendary Three Week Rages were just barely funny memories these days.

* * *

><p>It was odd. Talking to an actual real live External without insulting them. He was oddly proud of the fact he'd only called her a mudblood <em>twice<em> this morning.

The first time when she pushed him out into the windy, overcast morning and the second time when she had simply laughed when he called her a 'fucking bitch she hulk whore,' and he'd only called her that because she insisted on making him walk.

Fucking Externals weren't allowed to be that pushy. Didn't anyone ever tell her?

Probably not, she was in Gryffindor after all, and Gryffindors don't give one shit about rules apparently.

God, he can't believe he let her _touch_ him. His father would be rolling in his grave, he just knew it.

"It helps when you talk."

"Helps what?"

"Having a conversation," Hermione smiled, "Care to tell me what on earth you did to piss Harry off?"

"I dunno. Be there? Why do _I _have to be the one who pissed _him_ off? He started it."

"Because Harry doesn't just start things."

"Oh, right. I forgot he was perfect for a moment there. Forgive me."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Draco's sarcastic tone as she walked into a small quiet looking coffee shop.

"Do you want to feel victimised and targeted or do you actually want to talk?" Hermione frowned at him as she placed _his_ order, placed Draco Malfoy's order like he was a fucking girl, and led him to a small comfortable looking couch and coffee table arrangement by a window, "I know I, for one, want to know why Harry is all of a sudden being a moody git all over again."

"Oh, shut up. Potter probably just hadn't had his weekly outburst yet and here I am, Son of Voldemort's butt boy, just ripe to be outbursted at."

"Outbursted is not a word."

"I believe I told you to shut up."

Hermione sighed, "Look, there's something you have to know about Harry. He isn't like how he was in school. Or at least he wasn't that way until you moved in for your project. Harry-" she paused as if looking for the right words, "Harry stopped caring about things after... everything. He hasn't yelled at anyone besides the Weasley's and me since it all happened. I think you should take that into consideration."

"Well, there's the fact that I don't even believe you because Potter fucking breathes angst and then there's the fact that I don't particularly care."

"First of all Draco, I saw you when you two were arguing. There were almost tears in your eyes."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the bushy haired drummer; he had _not_ been teary. At least, he didn't _think_ he had been teary. Why on fucking _earth_ would he be teary? Potter didn't like his work, sure, Potter hated his life passion, ok, but Draco never gave a single toss what Potter thought, let alone two.

"And second of all," Hermione continued, ignoring Draco's glare, "You are the first person to get a rise out of Harry since school. Did you know that somebody called his mother a whore and implied that his parents had an 'arrangement of a orgiastic manner' with Voldemort's inner circle in a interview and he just sat there? And then _you_ come along, mumble some thing or another about his work ethic and he's screaming and yelling and calling you all sorts of things."

Draco raised his eyebrow as if to say _maybe it's because he's a cunt, you stupid bitch? Did you think of that? _And it scares the waitress who brought them their coffee off behind the counter.

Hermione had thought of that though, and a lot of other things, smart things that Draco hadn't, so she looked at him with a small arch in her own brow as if to say _language Draco_ and he almost felt chastised. He brings the coffee up too his lips so that he can have a bitch at Hermione for ordering the freak of a coffee but to his surprise and disappointment the vanilla coconut monstrosity actually tastes _good_.

To make himself feel better he arched his raised brow even further, bringing his expression to a previously unknown level of _why are we even conversing plebeian? _And Hermione just laughed and Draco thought everyone had to agree that this is an entirely unsavoury habit. Ron might have told you that Hermione's most annoying habit was knowing _everything_ and Harry might have told you that it's the way she actually pulled the blankets _off_ him and doused the fire to get him out of bed in the mornings but Draco _knew –_ undeniably and irrefutably _knew_, no matter what _anyone _else said – that Hermione's most annoying habit was this ridiculous business of finding him, Draco Malfoy, _funny_.

Draco continued being annoyed at her until she said something positively darling - "I could sell a garbage bag if you were the one modelling it," - at which point he pulled out his camera because he was working dammit. He was not here to be the mudbloods friend but to photograph it and sell it's image to clueless trash mags. Not friends. No matter how many nice things they say about you.

The following comment of "Harry definitely agrees with me on that front Draco," just sealed the deal. No friends with mudbloods ever.

(And, on top of that, the way Hermione smirked and waggled her brows at him when she said it was just lewd. _Lewd_ and so very out of character that he almost dropped his coffee mug in shock and completely fumbles his returning remark that his wardrobe has a zero tolerance garbage policy. Were Gryffindors even _allowed_ to smirk?)

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><p><strong>Your butt is mine, gonna take you right. Just show your face in broad daylight, I'm telling you: reviewing is good for the soul.<strong>


	6. Prompting For World Peace

**Before anything else: **

**This chapter is for anyone who wants a little bit more background information.**

**Apologies for the wait (though you are smart and dear and lovely and have probably realised waits are to be expected by now) but, I was very very busy being at singing school and watching Harry Potter and crying and serving Mexican food to people who apparently hate Mexican food.**

**Hopefully something of a plot emerges in this chapter. Who knows bro?**

**This one is very long. Enjoy.**

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><p>After Draco's decidedly feeble remark on the contents of his wardrobe Hermione did that annoying thing where she looked at him like she <em>knew<em> things, possibly about wardrobes, or possibly about gay marriage laws in Connecticut.

Draco, to be frank, simply didn't care what Hermione knew.

Not after all her damn bloody fucking teasing.

She just pulled that face at him, the one that said, in no uncertain terms, that she found Draco's proclivity towards mental cursing altogether too amusing to chastise.

He looked at her in despair, "Oh, Salazar help me."

She tutted, "The founders can't help you now."

Draco felt the need to be slightly worried.

"You're Legacy through and through aren't you?"

Draco smirked, because yes he was. He was Legacy in the way cabbage was cabbage – not that Draco had many dealings with the stuff – and it was by far his favourite saving grace.

"Proud of it too, aren't you?"

Hermione looked at his smirk deepen, seeming to once again contemplate something beyond anyone else's contemplation.

A long uncomfortable pause and two deep and meaningful sips of her Chai latte later she says just one word.

"Why?"

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><p>Harry and Ron sprawled over Harry's Godfather's expensive lounge chairs.<p>

Ron rolls over to look at Harry, "Do you wonder why he's such a git?"

And Harry imagines Draco's childhood home filled with disturbed and violent criminals. He wonders if Voldemort touched him or hurt him when he was a child. He ponders what it would be like to have Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy as parents. He questions what the reality of the Slytherin dungeons was as a twelve year old boy. He _shudders_ at the thought of living with Bellatrix Lestrange.

He looks at Ron with a casual shrug and says, "Nope," because he _knows_ why Draco Malfoy is such a git, he just doesn't want to care.

And because he is resiliently stubborn, Harry Potter_ does not_ care.

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><p>"What do you <em>mean<em> why?"

"Why are you so proud of being Legacy?"

"Because-" _because it's the only thing my Mother is proud of any more_, "I don't expected _you'd_ understand."

He sneered at her, his eyes screamed mudblood for the third time even if his lips couldn't shape the word when she was looking at him like that; so frank, so honestly disappointed and forgiving with a twinkle of amusement.

He sighed, it looked like he was going to get used to that face.

"Tell me about your family."

It was not a question, Draco noted, but neither was she rude. His mother had been trying to teach him how to do that since he was nine.

He felt resentment bubble up in his chest, for this mudblood who didn't even _know_ she could carry herself with the grace of the highest of Legacy families, while he'd strived and shoved at that goal for as long as he could remember.

That was until she started drumming her fingers on the table top which _was_ rude and felt vaguely scandalous to watch.

"Mother was a beautiful woman," he started.

* * *

><p>"No, but seriously Harry. Bet it's his parents fault."<p>

Harry sighs, he guesses it's hard to believe that Draco was predisposed for evil, that he woke up one day and just wanted to almost kill his head master, that he lashed out violently at Harry because he thought it might be funny. Besides, Draco had no sense of humour. Neither did his father, he supposed. That was one of the problems.

"Guess so mate. More coffee?"

He waves his mug in Ron's general direction, indicating that he'd like the redhead to take it and do the honours.

"Sure," said the red head, secure in his knowledge that Harry's desire for coffee outweighed his stubbornness, "but I'm not making it."

Harry shot him a dirty look as he got up and snatched Ron's cup, "Fucking Gingers."

"Make me one too, would you?"

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><p>"You know, she was a brilliant lawyer."<p>

"I thought she didn't work."

"Oh, she didn't. Father insisted she step down when they married," he laughed inwardly at Hermione's indignant expression, "You shouldn't look so surprised. It's more then common practice amongst The Legacy, I should think you already know that."

"Well. How do you know that she was good if you never saw her work?"

Draco laughed, Hermione understood so little about a Legacy woman's social life, "If you had seen her socialise as she used to, you would think she was brilliant too. But I found an old stack of her files that she had hidden from Father when I was in fifth year. That one stack helped me infinitely during OWLS; it was pretty much the only reason I topped the class in Advanced Logic and Reasoning."

Some of Hermione's amused air dropped – ALR was the only class she'd taken that she hadn't topped.

"May I read them?"

"If I can find them and if you're nice to me and let me break Potter's nose."

"No can do, sorry. His face sells albums."

Draco sighs inwardly – there is only so much blunt truth and blatant Potter worshipping he can handle in one day and he's fast approaching that limit.

What was so great about Potter anyway? He might be utterly gorgeous, sure, but he was a fucking _prick_.

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><p>"Sometimes I wonder what people even see in him."<p>

"See in who?"

"The git."

Harry took a slow breath and shoved the lazy fantasies of tall blondes to the back of his head, he attempted to ignore the haughty high class accent devolving into dirty begging in his imagination and he tried to completely banish the image of Draco's smile from where it's burnt to his retinas from his sixth year at Hogwarts.

"There's nothing to see that another slut can't give me," he lies.

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><p>"Bellatrix was," Draco paused and contemplated his words, "She was Legacy but, to be quite frank, she was insane. Do you remember Neville Longbottom?"<p>

Hermione remembered Neville, in fact she had plans to visit him and Ginny marked on her calendar for next week, "Of course. He saved us all remember?"

He shoots her a look that says he's not stupid and that was irrelevant and continues, "In the first war she tortured his parents into insanity."

Hermione's gasp of shock and horror was almost worth talking about Bellatrix and having to think of the awful things she'd done. His brain was so caught up in the things Bellatrix had done to his family, his friends, to him, that he almost missed her whisper of "How?"

"She used her Pledge Knife," Hermione winced and rubbed at her arm, she remembered Bellatrix's Pledge Knife. Draco continued, "She cut them for months. Waited for the first cuts to heal and began again, everyday. By the time the ministry found them they were unrecognisable, didn't even recognise their family, they were mutilated and out of their minds. Bellatrix was proud of that. Beyond belief."

He looked at her with heavy eyes, eyes that remembered watching her cut up people like the Longbottoms, eyes that remembered his own blood on her hands and her mouth, "That's the sort of person Bellatrix was."

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><p>"I mean, people say they're gay now because of him. Must be <em>something<em> there."

There are flashes of smirks flickering under his eye lid and flickers of eyelashes on his cheeks and it's so odd to Harry how the closeness of their fights and arguments translate in his subconscious. The touch of a foil on his fencing uniform became a tentative finger brushing his shirt, the angry shoves became passionate pushes against walls and the shattering of glass and screams of pain became the thud of headboards and the high pitch keens of climax.

The innocent breasts of his childish fantasies became the hard push of a chest that he remembered from a fifth year midnight duel that had gotten well out of hand, the soft curves of a woman became the hard thighs of a boy across his lap that he remembered from fourth year outside a chemistry lab, any punches he may have received to his face conveniently forgotten.

"I find that hard to believe to be honest," but even harder is how he tries not to.

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><p>"What about your father?"<p>

"What about him?"

"Surely you have something to say about him."

Draco's father had done a lot of things, but he really didn't have much to say. When she asked about Snape though, he'd smiled and launched into many stories of his childhood, where his Godfather had snuck him away to try things like ice cream and had told him tales of green eyed goddesses and wild haired tricksters.

"The trickster he told me about was always rather arrogant and enjoyed malicious violence. He reminded me of a male Bellatrix in some ways. I once told him and all of a sudden his tales became more and more cautionary and specific to The Legacy. The green eyed Goddess became a God somewhere along the way, lost her red hair and gained black once I started school, when I met Potter. My Godfather was a great man, but in some ways very obvious, lacking imagination. I think it suited him to be so. But, I always wonder who the Goddess used to be, you know, before."

Hermione looked at him sadly, and like she _knew_ but how on earth she knew that was beyond him. He would have to ask her one day, once he loses all the rest of his dignity.

He smiled somewhat meanly, changing the topic with his expression, "Photo time Mione."

"What?"

"You know that part where I get to drag you around suburbia and pose you like a doll? That's happening now. We've had our talk and now it's time for _me_ to take advantage of _you_. Now, come."

"Really?"

"Yes, and while we're doing that you can explain to me exactly why no one mentioned this stupid touring business to me earlier."

Hermione sighed – she should have known better then to hope he'd forgotten – and followed him out the door so that he could exhaust her by dragging her around in the name of art.

* * *

><p>"Me too. Really, he's all blonde and scrawny. I mean, I know you go for that type, but Draco could turn a nympho off."<p>

Harry felt an unaccounted for anger rise at Ron's words. Harry took a deep breath because he _didn't _care. He _wouldn't_ care.

"Can we maybe talk about something else Ron?" He snapped.

He spent the rest of the day feeling frustrated and in a unexplainable sulk.

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><p>Hermione walked through the door after Draco, hanging her coat on the eccentric looking hat stand in the front hall.<p>

Ron nodded at her in greeting from the lounge room doorway, "Tough day?"

She didn't even have the energy to be mad at him (she was sure she was supposed to be mad at him for some reason) and trudged sleepily over too his open arms and collapsed against him in a hug like manner.

Ron smiled lazily – Hermione was definitely _not_ the morning person she appeared to be and she'd had a stupidly early start today, "Let's get you something to eat and then tuck you up all cosy in bed, Hermy-own-ninny."

"You're-" yawn, "such a-" yawn, "dick sometimes, Ron Weasley."

He smiled and started walking her towards the kitchen. She smiled sleepily at him when he handed her a hot chocolate and some toast.

"What did you and Draco get up to?"

"We talked. He told me some stuff about things. Took too many photos. Dragged me about all day. It was good for him I think," she yawned again which was just plain adorable and made Ron's chest ache, "Harry?"

"Prompting. It was good for him I think."

She smiled wider and leant back against Ron's chest. For someone so easily bemused he was awful smart. She just hoped that he'd finally got Harry thinking.

It was Ron though, she trusted that he had.

Somewhere between toast and hugs Hermione had fallen asleep leaning against Ron's chest. He sighed and carried her to bed, making sure to tuck his best friend in tight. He sighed and went into his room to grab her another blanket – it was a cold night after all.

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><p><strong>She'll make you take your clothes off and go dancing in the rain.<br>She'll make you live her crazy life but she'll take away your pain  
>like a bullet to your brain. <strong>

**She is Reviewing. Ricky Martin loved her and you should too. **

**(These days though, he loves her brother Subscribing, and if you give Subscribing a go, he'll reward you with the greatest prize – the love of a teenage author)**


	7. Sleep OR Harry Isn't Creepy Except He Is

**Before anything else:**

**I wrote this on zero hours sleep. Good luck, dear readers, good luck.**

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><p>It was a dragging sound and a rapid stream of cursing from inside the oversized closet next to his room that woke Harry Potter up the next morning. He rolled out of bed wary and slightly concerned for his safety, reaching for something heavy and useful for hitting. It wasn't likely that anyone had gotten past the extensive and excessive security installed in Grimmauld Place but Harry was a man who had learned to be cautious, despite what that Malfoy git said about him.<p>

He tiptoed quietly towards the door, not quite sure what he was expecting.

A room full of photo developing equipment and the startling sexy and sweaty Draco Malfoy was not it.

"Hey Malfoy?"

Draco looked up, clearly startled, and clearly trying to hide it, "What, Potter?"

To be honest, Harry _was_ going to chuck a fit at him for waking him up again, perhaps even begin to tirade about asking permission before stealing his closets – especially the one he used for his soccer gear – but watching him drag about his equipment semi topless caused him to reconsider, "Have sex with me."

"No Potter," Draco rolled his eyes, apparently unaware of his current attractiveness.

"But why not?" Harry dragged out his words like a ten year old with a point to prove, his eyes focussed on the ragged old shirt falling off Draco's torso.

It was honestly the most ridiculous sound Draco had ever heard.

"Because I'm tired," and he was. He'd been up all night trying to find a place where he could make a temporary dark room. To be honest, Grimmauld Place was not short on such places, but most were decidedly cluttered with Legacy paraphernalia. While it reminded him of home, the small dark closets filled to the brim with sinister objects were not exactly conducive to photo development.

"You always say that babe."

"Oh, fuck off. I'm too exhausted for this bullshit."

"You know, sleeping can cure that."

Draco arched a brow in his direction, "If you're not going to fuck off then help me."

"No. How long has it been since you slept?"

"Why not?"

"How long had it been since you slept?"

"None of your business. Fuck off."

"No. When did you sleep?"

"It doesn't matter. I should have known you wouldn't help me."

"Draco."

Draco started, it wasn't like Harry to call him by his first name – at least, not unless he was teasing him.

"Stop being an idiot and go to bed."

He bristled at the insult – he didn't know what he had been expecting but he knew he was an idiot to expect it, "No. I, unlike you, don't have the luxury to sit around on my ass all day."

Harry's mouth tensed and he turned his back on Draco. He could go suck a porcupine for all Harry cared.

But when Harry walked past the door for the fifth time in as many minutes he stuck his head in the door, just curious of course, and pretended to be shocked at the image of Draco Malfoy snoring on a worktop (how he'd fit the damn thing in there Harry didn't know) because it wasn't like he was _waiting_ for Draco to fall asleep or anything, because what reason would he have for doing that?

Harry then pretended not to wind his way through the mess of benches, lights and soccer boots, pretended not to pick the decidedly heavy Draco up and pretended not to lay him down in his own bedroom, because why would Harry do that? It wasn't like his bed was warmer then the ratty guest bed Ron had volunteered Draco for, and he was afraid Draco might catch a cold.

But, most of all, Harry Potter pretended not to brush the hair from Draco's face, tuck him in and stare at him until a snore – Harry pretended it wasn't adorable – startled him from his lack of thoughts and he remembered that he was supposed to be using Draco for the sex that he wasn't getting.

Because if he did all that it would just be creepy.

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><p><strong>No real issues discussed and Harry is still in denial! What? What a useless chapter. If I didn't know any better I'd say I was being lazy.<strong>

**I hope you liked it though. Despite it's rather short uselessness.**

**I'm sorry. I am being horrible XD**


	8. In Which Harry Tries Sharing

**Before Anything Else:**

**Hey guys, you have Suits to thank for this update! This show is actually the biggest motivator to write and I don't even know why. Maybe it's because those kids are gorgeous and obviously in love like our two favourite boys here.**

**I missed them.**

**Also you can thank my brilliant reviewer FlyWolfSilver****and my favourite fanfiction friend, The Fragile Night Rain_._**

**I've said it before and I'll say it again and again and again:**

**You should all go read her stories, especially if you ship SasuNaru.**

**HEY LOOK! Is that some depth to Harry's character I spy? He is now two and a half dimensional. WOO. Character developmentish! **

**Enjoy.**

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><p>Hermione liked to play the drums because of the precision. The one two three four.<p>

Ron liked the bass for the noise of it all.

And the guitar.

And the piano.

And, surprisingly, the violin.

Though everyone in The Trio knew that he had something to prove and he was not stupid, dammit.

Harry liked to lead, to take the brunt of the publicity from his friends in some noble self sacrificing Harry Potter effort, just like in the proceedings leading up to Voldemort's eventual death.

He also liked to scream at people.

But, most of all, Harry Potter actually liked to sing.

Draco could see it and he was actually shocked. He thought he'd already seen Harry sing and, while he knew in the intellectual sense that he _had_ seen Harry sing in his last practice, he hadn't seen Harry _really_ sing.

Draco didn't know what he meant, he didn't know what he was thinking. _God,_ he felt mad, absolutely fucking _insane_ and if this was permanent he was going to blame Harry Potter for the rest of his life.

He'd never really realised how intellectual that first practice he'd sat in on was. In retrospect, when he looked past Harry's death glare of intent, Hermione's wordy and slightly sarcastic commentary and his own fascination with aesthetics, he recognised the way they seemed to count the beats with their hands, the run of pens over paper and Ron's frantic searching through sheet after sheet of Hermione's shorthand music.

He finally admitted to himself that although he had internally laughed at Ron's frantic begging for explanation of some of Hermione's jargon, but in truth Draco didn't really understand the terminology _or_ the explanations that Ron seemed to be lapping up like a slightly demented puppy.

It was infuriating that so much went over his head, and even worse that he didn't notice it doing so, but he could hardly think about that despite how hard he was trying to be annoyed.

Because Harry Potter was _singing_. Really, truly _singing_.

He sounded beautiful and Draco had heard of sounding beautiful but he had never _knew _sounding beautiful before he heard Harry.

Oh God, what was he even thinking right now?

Gah! Why was Potter _still_ singing? He couldn't handle it, he felt, he heard, he wanted to _cry_ dammit!

Fuck Harry's surprisingly deep lyrics about rose-tinted perceptions and how it prevented true love.

It felt almost like a crime to feel sad about something like Harry's love life when Draco _knew _it was comprised of indiscriminate fucking and tossing of poor starstruck twinks out of his bed onto the footpath. Hell, Harry would fuck them on the footpath just to save time if Hermione would let him.

It was so _rediculous_!

But, Draco still felt a tear role down his cheek.

God Harry was beautiful when he sung like that. It hurt a little bit not to reach out and touch his lips but Draco would _not _be one of those boys and Harry Potter was too shallow to have any other type.

So Draco took photos, like he was paid to do.

And he tried, he really did, to pay attention to Hermione's rhythmic and almost zen drumming, to follow Ron's mad and frenetic pounding of the keyboard that defied all odds and came out as a complex lilting melody and even to Harry, the cause of all this distraction, playing his guitar with expert fingers.

But he couldn't get past his voice. Pansy would laugh at him when she saw these photos, he just knew it.

* * *

><p>Draco looked a bit shell shocked at the moment, and Harry guessed he knew why.<p>

It was the first time he had really heard them play.

The first jam he'd sat in on in his whole, entire, boring, stodgy, Slytherin life, Harry would bet on it.

Sure, he'd hurt them last time, but that was focused, writing. This session was about _enjoyment_, this was about pure and simple love for music.

It was always one of the things that blew his mind about Gryffindor – how music just happened and it was beautiful every time, even when the first years joined in, simply for the love and expression.

Harry always felt somehow lacking in his singing course – he knew the other singers did too, it wasn't just him – because of his lack of practical skills and musical knowledge when he first started out, in truth it was why he picked up guitar in second year, but when he _sang_ he felt like he belonged to something. He almost wished he could make Draco feel that too, but he assumed it was just the fact that it was the first time a non musical person had sat in one of _these_ kinds of sessions with him.

Harry, stripped of pretence for once in his life, just wanted Draco to _feel_ it. The joy of music, the most full sense of love Harry Potter, the legendary hunted orphan of music industry history, had ever felt.

He wanted to walk up to Draco and take the camera strap from around his neck and show him a chord or two. Something simple to start, and lead up to something complex. He wanted to guide him, share with him, to to teach him how to feel this love Harry had first felt at Hogwarts School for the Gifted and Focussed when he was eleven.

He shied away from the emotions. Draco was too close. Too near him.

It was so uncomfortable to be near someone like this, without the barrier of a stage or status or idolisation between them. It scared him.

But that wasn't why Harry was uncomfortable. Harry Potter could not afford fear or love, he never could.

Harry Potter did not fear.

Harry Potter did not love.

Harry Potter did not want to hear Draco Malfoy sing.

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><p>There was a strong pang that ran through Draco when Harry's head bent down over his guitar, when his voice fell into the back of his throat like he was hiding it, when he started playing guitar for a song that was different from the band's originals, or at least the ones Draco had heard.<p>

He guessed it was a cover, but he didn't know where from.

He liked it, he guessed. The Golden Trio were as well known for their brilliant take on covers and their improvisation as they were for their writing and showmanship. The band was the well oiled machine of Albus Dumbledore's hopes and dreams, after all.

It just wasn't the same though.

Harry hid his voice and not hearing it hurt more then not touching him did.

He was cut off from whatever Harry was feeling, and he didn't know _why_ it bothered him quite that much but it did and he was tired of hurting. Especially over some stupid song he'd never heard of and didn't quite understand.

"Rose tints my world," Harry doesn't quite sing, "Keeps me safe from my trouble and pain."

Even though Harry's voice rang in his ear, he hardly heard it. He never wanted to hear Harry Potter's voice again.

It was stupid and it brought up a ridiculous childhood crush and threw it away all over again and he didn't want to feel it any more.

And those lyrics didn't even make any fucking sense.

He took a deep breath in, and had hardly any trouble focussing on Hermione and Ron for the rest of the session, even photographing the stock piles of music and notes that Ron seemed oddly protective off, stopping playing every time Draco went to move a sheet of paper before almost seamlessly picking up the melody again.

Draco supposed that even Ronald Weasley of Weasley family infamy would develop _some_ skill after seven years of extensive musical schooling.

He wondered why Hermione wasn't a Ravenclaw.

He once again asked himself how this room got to be so pleasingly messed up with paint and explosion marks.

He did _not_ think about Harry fucking Potter or his motherfucking voice.

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><p><strong>Hey guys, rate and review if you'd like. Respect for whoever picked up what song Harry was singing in the end there.<strong>


	9. Where No One Believes Ron's Packed Yet

**Before Anything Else: **

**I am horrible. I am so sorry to leave everyone hanging. Well, I guess not really hanging as my plot is not really _there_ to hang from, but still, I am sorry about how long it took to update. **

**Long story short I got busy and distracted and this story honestly slipped from my radar. It was disorganised and messy from the start and I'm afraid it felt like a shambles and difficult to write, and it's pretty easy for me to forget about hard work. Now though, the organisation is forming, and while the updates are going to be a bit short for a few weeks while I get on track, everything should be running well soon, and the plot will be a bit more, you know, plotty. If all goes to plan I'll be updating on Sundays regularly.**

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><p>The phone rings only twice before it goes to voice-mail and Draco glares at it before throwing it at the wall. He's tired and grumpy and he can't find his scarf and Pansy fucking Parkinson has it he just knows, and the bitch hung up on him and just, God.<p>

He needs to go back to bed.

He _would_ go back to bed, but Hermione is _in his doorway _being indecently cheerful and Ron is fucking about with Hermione's drum set in the rehearsal room. Draco can't tell if he's good or bad but Hermione keeps wincing and it's loud enough that he doesn't really care. He just wants it to stop. But it won't. Ron is trying to write something and it's going to be a few hours before he's satisfied (even though he really should be packing right now), according to Hermione's good-morning-you-should-really-start-packing-now speech.

Draco wants to scream.

He can't be in this room anymore, trying to pack everything back up when he's only _just_ set it out. He has to do something, _anything,_ else.

* * *

><p>Harry doesn't actually <em>hate<em> packing. Not really. In fact he doesn't mind it. He just says he does because he thinks Hermione would break in half if he told her the truth on this one.

He actually likes to sit there on his bed surrounded by everything he owns and take stock. There isn't much, but he likes the idea of being surrounded in things. He reaches across his stack of shirts for a picture of his parents and stares at their laughing faces and imagines, not for the first time, what they found so funny that day, what they were doing out in the snow in their dressing gowns, who was with them to take the photo, and who's messy cursive is scrawled across the back of the photo (_"December 29__th__. Bloody freezing. Who's idea was this?"_). He likes to imagine it was his Godfather Sirius, or his Godfather's close friend Remus Lupin. He misses them both so much and wonders if somewhere there are photos of them in their dressing gowns from that day too, tucked away in the attic that he hasn't touched since he moved in.

He places the photo with two others on his softest shirt and softly lays a sweater on top of them. He doesn't know why he bothers, nothing is safe with baggage handlers.

* * *

><p>Draco pauses in the doorway of the room he inexplicably woke up in mid-afternoon yesterday. Harry is sitting on what he extrapolates is Harry's bed (Oh Salazar, he slept in Harry's bed, he doesn't know <em>what<em> to feel like) messing about with photographs. They're ragged and old, Draco can tell even from a distance. He almost feels like he's interrupting something precious, but this is Harry; Draco isn't going to kid himself.

He pushes off the door frame and slinks into his closet/workroom/sometimes darkroom next door. His fingers are itching to do some photo restorations today, and he hardly knows why, and he can hardly justify the urge at the moment, you know, with the lack of actual progress on his personal work right now. He has a pile of old photos of his mother and father though which are close enough to ruined that, at least, his mother would appreciate the effort, and it will distract him from horrible thoughts about baggage handlers touching his cameras.

Then he remembers that he needs his laptop for the trip, maybe even the scanner, and _curse_ the Founders, he is going to have to unplug _everything_.

* * *

><p>It's only a three day trip, but Hermione seems to require a lot more bags then she'd like. There has to be a hair curler, a straightening iron, her laptop (and God, she's going to have to ruin her carefully arranged office to get that unplugged, she just knows), that stupid steampunk tutu (and really, she's going to be behind a drumset for half the show, it's completely impractical and how is a <em>tutu<em> steampunk anyway?), hairspray, _glitter_ hairspray, that damned Victorian era metal and tule contraption they tried to pass off as a dress (and whoever decided a themed album was a Good Idea is someone she'd like to talk to about luggage restrictions, and why on Earth include a costume change in the first place?), a rather delicate and space consuming hat which was beautiful but she's going to need a hat box, a thirty centimetre by thirty centimetre bag of cosmetics, and at least three changes of clothes, and something extra nice to wear to the dinner with the upper level someone to do with distribution and venues in Australia, her pyjamas and everything else normal people require on a holiday, and she's sure that she'll find out she needs many more things before they finally leave.

Hermione rarely has diva moments, but she wishes they could take the costumers with them to Perth and make them deal with all the clothes bags and hat boxes.

* * *

><p>Ron is taking a break from trying to write drum parts because a) he starts thinking Hermione is about to appear full of rage and irritation about his playing, which is annoying because he isn't that bad, but he can see her wince from here, and hey, he's a nice guy so he can just let it go and do something else, unlike everyone else in this house, and b) he wants to google 'Things to do in Perth' again, because he didn't have much luck yesterday and dude, there has to be <em>something <em>to do. He thinks that if the googling fails, he might call Dean Thomas who, as luck would have it, has just arrived back home from his Australian tour.

Ron's already packed; he has been for days.

* * *

><p>The flight leaves at two the next morning, so after spending a day either procrastinating and sullenly flinging clothing, sitting in bed basking in material possessions, despairing of the inconvenience that playing venues (however small) while they're away for such a short business trip because some high level someone decided it was good publicity, or doing absolutely nothing, the four artists currently residing in the now semi-famous and semi-infamous 12 Grimmauld Place load up two cabs and leave for the airport.<p>

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><p><strong>Oh Lord guys, it's been a long time coming, for you and for me. I've been meaning to write this for weeks, but my life's been a bit of a clusterfuck for a while now. I actually meant to have this posted last Saturday! I decided to get this all sorted a couple weeks ago now and since then I've ended my relationship (not actually a bad thing), lost my job (a bad thing, my work closed down, I loved it there, good pay, good spare time gah so mad), lost my hard-drive, realised I don't even have openoffice on this computer, and have spent 3+ nights in a row being Not-At-Home a few times.<strong>

**One good thing though, let me tell you. Single life agrees with me, and I felt so guilty when I wrote this sort of fic because my ex is a judgey wanker and would never understand. Now there is NONE OF THAT WANKERY HAPPENING.**

**Speaking of Wankers, Harry's sex drive makes a reappearance in the next Chapter! I PROMISE YOU THERE WILL BE PLOT ONE DAY OK AND THE STORY WILL HAVE AT LEAST ONE THING TO DO WITH THE TITLE.**

**Though I like the excuse Draco is also a Wanker, just in a less literal way then our slutty Harry. I love Slutty Harry.**

**XO BELLA**


	10. Wanker Taxi Driver OR Nowhere Is Safe

**BEFORE ANYTHING ELSE: **

**Wow guys! The amount of Wanker related emails I got this week made me faint and woozy with the influx of awesome! My system couldn't cope! It went, no surely not, but it surely was and that was _quite_ amazing! Please review and tell me how this story makes _you _feel inside!**

**This chapter has been brought to you by (and slightly delayed by) Eurovision. (My worthless Australian votes were for Albania & Estonia & Germany)**

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><p>Hermione is pinching her nose; it's been a long day. She knows she makes the stress for herself, that she thinks and thinks and thinks until she has a headache; she can't stop wondering, worrying, and questioning, but she personally thinks that's the only reason she's so smart in the end, so she doesn't begrudge it. She just wishes sometimes that she would stop, that she would take pause and just accept a situation before she makes herself miserable and tense.<p>

The taxi ride over to the airport had been nothing short of strained. Hermione had been waspish and irritable, and completely irrationally so, she knew that, but it was beyond frustrating packing to the soundtrack of Ron playing video games in the lounge room. Ron had kept trying to talk to her, and grew increasingly peevish when she tossed one worded answers and dark looks at him one after the other. Eventually he had lapsed into a confused and hurt silence. The only salve for the

Sitting in the airport with a headache, she hates herself a little. She doesn't understand why she does it, but every time Ron throws her expectations like that she wants to hit him around the head, and the entire day of trying to get organised didn't help. She hates it. This whole trip was a stupid idea. They're never going to get it all right. There wasn't enough time to organise it. This whole secret show business is going to backfire, she just knows it. What will the press say when they only play one city and then leave? It's just going to be weird… and disorganised. It will be messy. No one likes a messy show. Messy shows go on you-tube and people start talking about them. God. She can't deal with this. Not in the middle of writing. And with Harry and Draco in such tight quarters she's also going to be a glorified baby sitter, and none of this takes into account that damned meeting. Hermione shouldn't have insisted they go but she always does, and this whole inevitable mess is going to be her fault, just because she can't stand to not know _everything._

They're still waiting for Harry and Malfoy to arrive in the taxi, and it's been long enough that Ron is starting to consider calling out a search party and is considering the odds that they finally went one way or the other about their relationship. He'd suggest a bet to Hermione that they've gone and murdered each other but she's being… well, Hermione-In-Exam mode. Which is to say, bitchy, and overbearing, but he can forgive her for that because he's a magnanimous kind of fellow, Ron is.

He glances over at her. He knows what she's doing to herself, he can pretty much read all of her 'what if's and 'oh no's between the lines on her forehead. He sighs, time to put his pride and self preservation instinct aside for the greater good.

Hermione's running through the things that could go wrong with the business meeting the band is attending when an arm drops over her shoulder and she is pulled into Ron's side, effectively jolting her out of her stressful loop.

"Come on, 'Mione. Let's go check out duty free," Ron smiles, "You can pay. My wallet's in my suitcase."

Of course it is, and Hermione is sure Harry's is too. All she can hope for is that Draco remembered to pack his in flight bag properly, so she can finally have someone responsible enough to look after himself around. Knowing her luck, and Draco's bitter reluctance to get ready, that is probably too much to hope for. She rolls her eyes, "What about Harry and Draco?"

"What about them? They can call us when they arrive."

"If Harry's not broken his phone in the process of attempting murder, that is."

Ron smiles; Hermione, admittedly, is still a little prickly, but she's shifting back to his 'Mione, that he knows so well.

* * *

><p>Harry wants to scream a little. Draco is too close, and they've been in this taxi too long. He should have known that the driver wasn't taking a "short secret route" - he has that shifty look in his eye that meant he was about to take them for all they had - but Harry was too busy wondering why on earth he was left in a taxi with Draco Malfoy. It's uncomfortable being so helplessly close to him, and Malfoy himself seems to be planning his escape route.<p>

He'd question why he suddenly cares, when before this he was eager to have sex with the guy not an hour ago, but Harry didn't get where he was today by questioning his instincts, or applying logic, and in truth he knew that he was uncomfortable because, really, this was the first time they'd spent much time together.

Grimmauld Place is a large house, and one with lots of private spaces, closed doors, and extra rooms, and on top of all that, Harry and Draco's schedules rarely coincide. Harry can count on two hands the times he's been in the same room as Draco, and he can count the times that Draco's been awake or alone with him on only one. So it's understandable that the atmosphere is so strained, and even more so with Draco barking at the taxi driver every ten minutes - they've really too much baggage to just ditch the taxi and call for another, not on the busy streets the driver is sticking to. Harry is tense and unreasonably panicked, and he can feel his shackles rising, his old habit of lashing out at Draco returning with a burning need and it scares him a bit. He hasn't felt like this in a while, he thought he was better. This is a feeling he associates with resistance meetings and guerrilla warfare, of a time when Malfoy was his enemy. He struggles against it, and he can feel the bile rising in his throat like a warning system. It's now, it's fight or flight.

Harry turns his head and rolls down the windows, breathing in the fresh air and trying to just _go away_.

It's uncomfortable. It has been for a while, the taxi is too slow, the route too long, and Harry too near. Draco's about two minutes away from giving up on the taxi driver, and is more then a little frustrated that Harry isn't helping him. There is absolutely nothing he can do to get out of this situation and he wants to tear his hair out. This is worse then being in the same house as Harry, this one single - though admittedly over-long - drive to the airport. He doesn't know if he wants to hit Harry or the driver but he knows he wants to hit something. He can't do that, obviously, but he has to do something.

His camera case sits at his feet, nudging at his ankle, and really, this is what he is here for, taking photos. So he picks it up, and rummages around, fumbling and almost dropping his camera. His hands are jittery with inexplicable nerves, and he feels he is about to do something very wrong, that he is about to snap the delicate tension in the car and break something, but he pushes on, because he...

He doesn't know why, beyond that he can't _not,_ and the running background thought of 'what does it matter what happens' pushes him just the fraction he needs.

He looks at Harry, highly strung and staring out the window. It feels like a cliché, but he's looks genuinely wistful, instead of wearing the false face most celebrities do when trying to appear deep, and Draco feels like maybe this photo would mean something, would push _beyond_ the cliché. It's difficult to line up the shot when the seat between them is piled with hat boxes and Draco is still trying not to look too closely at Harry.

He looks at Harry through his camera lens, and what he sees is beautiful, and depressingly, unattainably otherworldly. The world he stares at flashes by him in lines of light and shadow - Draco is happy for the accidental symbolism - and his face itself is equally draped in shadow. He takes in an awed breath as he pushes the button and waits for the shutter to click. The flash explodes, and he flinches away from the sudden light - he'd forgotten to turn it off, he wasn't expecting it, it blind sided him. There was an awful moment where he remembered the red yellow explosions of his youth and he tries not to shudder away. He'd been getting better with it, dissociating his camera flash with warfare because this was his _job_, his _passion_, and really, it was a ridiculous notion, to be scared of a camera flash. He almost never reacted, except in moments like this, where it caught him off guard.

Harry startles from the sudden bright white flash of white, and he hears cursing from in front of him and for a moment he is back in Downing Street staring his mortality in the face. His head whips wildly around and he sees Draco, and for a moment they're in the same world, and it's suddenly fine, because Draco, the inexplicable fool is holding a camera and he's in a taxi and the driver has just been startled out of his wits and is swearing a blue streak. They're fine, _Harry_ is fine, and there's a broken smile on Draco's face, that Harry can feel on his own lips. This one moment is something he won't be able to ignore or forget.

They pull up at the taxi rank at the airport and once they've taken out all the luggage Harry hands over fifty dollars, the most it should ever have cost to get here from Grimmauld Place, with an arrogant smirk and proceeds to ignore the spluttering taxi driver while Draco texts the taxi number to Pansy. He's exhausted. That whole trip was just, fuck, too much. He blames the taxi driver mainly, but he can't help but feel guilty, he saw the fear in Harry's eyes, and it was his fault, he won't ever really forget that. He takes a step and stumbles, and is surprised to feel Harry's arm catch him at the elbow and the small gentle smile on Harry's face.

That smile catches in his heart and stays there. He thinks it might just be one more thing about this evening that will never go away.

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><p>When Harry and Draco finally make it through check in and meet up with Hermione and Ron it's final call, and close to two am. Everyone is tired, and Harry is rehashing their frustration with the taxi driver, appearing much more irritated about it in retrospect, and a lot less guarded then Draco has ever seen him. He watches closely as Harry mumbles that he has something else he wants to talk to her about, and then finishes his story about not paying the full fair with a triumphant grin and Draco seems to be the only one who notices that grin soften into a real, almost goofy smile with Hermione's exasperated "Oh, Harry."<p>

They board the plane, and Draco once again finds himself seated next to Harry Potter, but the mood is gentler for all it's cautiousness, and if ten minutes into the flight he's asleep with Harry's head folded on top of his, and snuggled up into Harry's side, no one has to know but the stewardess, because Ron and Hermione in the row behind, are in a similarly comfortable arrangement.

Well, no one but the stewardess and every fan who visits her blog and sees the photograph she quietly takes as she walks past with the food tray.

So, pretty much everyone. But for the moment it's just the stewardess.

* * *

><p><strong>That's<strong> **end of that chapter! **

**It was a bit full on, I guess, but I like that I'm finally getting more in touch with the reality and details of Harry's problems, and finally getting around to saying that Draco's not ok either. AND ALLUDING TO THE PAST? WHO ME?**

**I'd love to know what you guys think, especially if you disagree XD I am always eager for discussion of my two favourite boys and co.**

**Also, I said I'd update by Sunday :S Is this Sunday? No way Jose. My powers of observation indicate early Tuesday morning. I blame both Eurovision and for the delay. It was worth it though, I'm now the proud owner of a collapsible shot glass key ring, and have fallen in love with Albania, Germany and Estonia. You know you drink too much when you've had enough moments where you couldn't find a shot glass to justify the purchase of one of those. Seriously. I recently also took to carrying a bottle opener in my handbag. BECAUSE YOU NEVER HAVE ONE WHEN YOU NEED ONE.**

**XO BELLA**

**PS: I know there are many talented artists in this fandom, and I hope it's not too forward to ask, but I would really truly love for someone to draw some of Draco's photographs. I try myself and have come up trumps. They're in my head, but refuse to go on paper, and I'd love to finally see them! **


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